


mullet

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comeplay, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hair Kink, Hair Washing, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shower Sex, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 16:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17186402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lance likes Keith's hair.Uh... *really* likes it.  A lot.





	mullet

Maybe it's just because of how aggressive he can be, or the whole knife-toting tough guy thing, or maybe even just how he kept it long despite being a desert hermit with dubious access to showers when he’s so practical about everything else - or, hell, maybe it has nothing to do with Keith and it's 100% Lance projecting. But for a long time Lance assumed - ok, hoped - ok, _fantasized_ \- that Keith would like having his hair pulled. He tried it once in the middle of making out, almost immediately after they started this whole...thing, threading a hand into the mass of dark waves then clenching his fist, only for Keith to yelp and glare at him with a "Dude, what the fuck?!"

So, no.  RIP, Lance's fantasies: Keith Kogane does not like having his mullet yanked. Even and especially during sex.

(Hates any pain at all in bed, actually, which Lance was…not expecting? He likes to wrestle and roughhouse, likes to be touched firmly and not tickled, and, weirdly, for Lance to sit or lie on him when they’re like this, even when Lance is worried he’ll crush him ( _"You’re like a bundle of twigs, Lance, you weigh practically nothing –" "Excuse me for being concerned that my frankly impressive musculature might be a bit much to park right on your lungs, mullet –"_ ) but if he scratches hard enough to leave even the lightest mark he goes prickly.)

On the flip side, he doesn't seem to mind if Lance plays with it nicely. Which he does, whenever the opportunity presents itself. Right now it's in easy reach from where Lance is straddling his chest, knees up around his teammate's ears while Keith sucks him off.  Almost but not quite fucking his face, Keith guiding him with both hands on his ass through a slow, easy hip roll, biceps bunching rhythmically on Lance's thighs.

Lance curls over to comb his fingers through it, making a total tumbled mess.  It feels bizarre but weirdly satisfying slipping between his fingers. The texture is really different from his own hair and other hair he's played with, superfine like a cat's fur but slipperier, more satiny.  The one time Keith reluctantly let him braid it, it slid out of the plait in strands then chunks within minutes. The sheen of it is oilslick-purple in some lights, which makes Lance certain it must be a Galra thing.

It's scattered all over Lance's pillow like curls of ink, dark silk on pale cotton, little bits sticking to his temples.  When Lance rakes his bangs back from his forehead he can see Keith flicking his eyes up at him, brow furrowed in a scowl of concentration.  It's a little overwhelming, having that laser focus trained solely on him and his pleasure.  Lance rambles half-mindlessly, electricity coiling through him at the feel of that hot mouth on his dick, tracing circles at Keith's temples with his thumbs, locks curling around his fingers.

“How are you so good at this,” he whines. Keith trembles with a huff of laughter around his cock. “You are, you take it so well, _ah_ , Keith, you look so good like this – you’re turning so pink, oh my God – your hair is just so –” Lance runs his hands through it again, feels like he's getting close – his hair –

"God, Keith," he hears himself groaning, "I wanna come on your hair."

Keith freezes, wide-eyed. Callused fingers unconsciously clench a little tighter on his ass.  That and the convulsive swallow around his length make Lance gasp.

Keith pulls back abruptly, dick slipping out of his mouth with a pop. "What?!"

Focusing is not Lance’s first priority right now, shivering at the cool air hitting his wet dick and it's – the gleaming head is just laying against Keith's jaw, now – and also, that jaw, whole face actually, is rapidly turning as red as his Lion.

"Uhh," he says cleverly, "um," as it catches up to him with a jolt what he's just said out loud, oh God, what the hell.  "Sorry, was that weird? It was weird, wasn't it, we can just forget that - "

"Why," Keith says, short and sharp, but the scrunch of his brows is one Lance has begun to recognize as more _de_ fensive than _of_ fended. It's the face he gets when he suspects he's being made fun of but hasn't figured out what the joke is and so he scrunches, uncertain and edging on hurt.  "Is this about that whole - is this about your stupid rivalry thing?"

"Ok, first of all, it wasn't just _my_ rivalry thing! And no!" Lance says immediately, hands waving wildly in denial, but a bolt of heat runs through him and his cock twitches against Keith's jaw at the idea, stupid perfect first place Cadet Kogane with cum splattered over his face, _his_ cum, like a victory, like getting one over on him. "Or well," he backtracks sheepishly as Keith gives him an unimpressed look, "maybe a just a tiny little bit?"

Oh no, that's definitely the hurt scrunch now. Why on earth did he say that? Keith curls awkwardly under him, shoulders bunching, but he can't cross his arms and armor himself when they're tangled up like this.  Any second that hurt is going to transmogrify into anger, and that’ll be the end of this encounter.

" _Noooo_ , no no no no," Lance hurries, and he - god it kills him, because it's kind of hot, having his dick just resting on Keith's face, but it's really not, at all, because it’s framed by the self-conscious look he's put there, a blush that's bordering on painful. They were doing just fine ten seconds ago before he ruined it. So he shuffles back, mindful of not putting all his weight on Keith's chest. Leaning down, he cups Keith's cheek with one hand, pets at the baby hairs at his temple with the other, tracing them with his fingertips.  Tries to turn his head to look back at him, as his dark eyes dart sideways, uncomfortable.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to... sorry.  We can just forget about it and do something else, I didn't mean to make things weird.  It just sort of popped out, you're so – you were so hot and your hair feels so nice –"

"You always make fun of my hair," Keith points out flatly. "You said last week I should cut it."

And now Lance is blushing to match him. "I – you get this one admission, mullet! I may or may not say stupid crap about your hair because it might be a good look on you sometimes – "

Keith's shoulders unbunch a little.

"And I may have observed its _objective_ hotness even before I, you know, before we were... like this! You had that whole wild hoverbike bad boy thing going with the leather jacket and the hair always blowing around in the wind like a model and it's all soft and shiny even though you never take care of it - "

The scrunch is almost completely smoothed now, and Keith is looking up at him like he's an idiot. Fondly, though. Like he's _his_ idiot. And he's not about to let Keith know exactly what he was thinking, (that maybe it'd look like pearls on silk on cotton, white on black on white- the red paladin doesn't seem the type to appreciate poetry) so he goes on lamely, "Sorry, it just popped into my head and it sounded hot and I was kind of distracted by _you blowing me_ so it just popped out!  Can we just forget this? Please tell me to shut up before I kill both our boners forever –"

"It's ok, you just surprised me," Keith interrupts, the corner of his mouth curling up. "That’s why you're always calling it a mullet? You secretly like my hair and it’ll kill your ego to say so?"

"It _is_ a mullet," Lance grouches, crossing his arms over his chest. He's softening. Maybe he should move, shift down a gear or two, because he's apparently sniped the mood, _blam_ , headshot, killed it dead.  But then Keith's palms are smoothing warmly over his hips and thighs and back again, grabbing himself a generous double handful of buttcheek and pulling Lance back in.  One hand slips forward and dips in to take Lance's flagging cock, stroking lightly. 

"Tell you what," Keith says, with an edge of a smirk. "You can come on my hair..."

Lance has never hardened to full mast so quickly in his life, a rush of fire sweeping through him like adrenaline.

" _If_ you admit my haircut isn't a mullet. And you gotta stop calling it one."  Keith cocks an eyebrow up at him, fingers still brushing over his cock, more fingers just barely teasing at the cleft of his ass. A pleasant shudder runs up Lance's spine at the touch. "Think you can manage that?"

"Oh my God," Lance breathes, hips hitching without his conscious direction. "Yeah, yes, whatever you want."

There's definitely a bit of evil in the curl of his mouth, now. "You have to say it, Lance."

"It's not a mullet," he repeats readily, rutting slightly into Keith's hand.

"And you're not gonna call it one?"

"Old habits -" he keens as Keith squeezes him, callused thumb swiping hard over the tip. "Yes, yes, I'll do my best!"

Those dark eyes are sparkling up at him in amusement now. "And you can't cheat by calling _me_ mullet."

"Ok! _Ok_ , oh my god, I swear I'll never say mullet again if that's what you - _ah_!"

Promise secured, Keith dips forward and takes the head of his dick between his lips again. Battle-hardened fingers dig into Lance's hip and ass and he bobs his head to meet the rocking pace he sets, gulping him down, lips shining wet as the blowjob quickly gets fast and sloppy.  Before Keith was taking his time, finding a smooth fluid rhythm.  Now it's like he's determined to drive Lance over the edge of a cliff like his hoverbike.  Buzzing heat bubbles up in Lance’s gut, twisting like liquid lightning, making his skin tingle all over.  He's not going to last at all, between the real visual of Keith trapped between his thighs, wrecking himself on his cock like he's gagging for it, and the mental image of – of –

"'m close," he chokes out. Keith makes a questioning hum around his dick, eyes flicking up to him again, and he looks dazed, half drunk, before Lance's words register and he releases his grip on his ass.

"Yeah, ok, go for it," he rasps as soon his mouth is free.

Lance rears up halfway on his knees, thighs shaking, and strips his cock frantically over Keith's flushed face. A drop of precum spatters his cheek.  Keith tips his head down slightly like he's bracing, or trying to give Lance a better target, and Lance is gone.

There's a soft intake of breath from Keith as the first stripe lands, thick and white, in his bangs. "Oh god, Keith," Lance chokes out, riveted as he keeps coming, drawing sloppy streaks on his crown, into the mess of locks tumbled over the pillow.  It clings, white on black on white, as Keith looks back up again, just in time for a belated spurt to drip heavily at the outer edge of his eyebrow.

Firm hands on his hips keep Lance from completely collapsing back down, settling back gingerly. He stares, mesmerized.  Keith looks fucking _debauched_ and Lance’s spank bank might be set forever.  There’s not even a close second place to Keith Kogane’s upturned face between his thighs, lips plush red and dark hair dripping with cum.  Some of this must be showing in his expression, because when he meets those dark eyes they quickly shunt sideways, Keith’s mouth pursing in that bashful way he gets when Lance compliments him and he doesn't know how to handle it. 

Lance moves, lazily stretching his sex-sated body along Keith's, legs slotting together and his softening cock nestling against where Keith is still hard.  Propping his head up with one hand, he tips in to kiss those swollen lips. Keith sighs into it as Lance kisses him, then rolls his eyes as Lance pulls back, weaving a hand through his hair to smear the cum into it, watching how it webs stickily in the slippery-silk texture.

"Now I have to wash my hair again," Keith grumbles, but there's no real heat behind it.

Lance scoffs, idly tracing his sticky hand down Keith's chest, scratching lightly at the trail of hair below his navel.  "How often do you even wash it, dude? You take like, five minute showers."

"I just go in and wash off, it doesn't take that long! What do you even do in there for an hour?”

"Hey man, all this –" Lance makes a sweeping gesture up his naked body to draw a loose circle around his face, "— takes a lot of work to maintain! Perfect glowing skin does not come naturally!"

“I dunno," Keith says skeptically, rolling onto his side to press in closer, sliding a hand over Lance's waist. "You looked fine before you got all the weird alien soap."

Lance has already opened his mouth to retort, but it dies half-formed. He's still not used to this, how Keith isn't one for poetics, but blindsides him with compliments delivered like statements of fact.  How he'll humor Lance's ideas and suggestions, even if he's unsure or snarks the whole time. He hasn't even attempted to wipe at his hair or the cum on his face yet. Lance swallows.

"Can I wash your hair?" he blurts.

"Uh...not if you're just trying to get me to use all your alien goop," Keith says, raising an eyebrow. "I know how to wash my hair, Lance."

"No, I mean..." Lance runs his hand down Keith's body again, pressing firm, cupping an asscheek momentarily in a little squeeze, then slipping his hand between them to run his knuckles up Keith's dick, earning a full-body twitch. "I wanna just - can we take this to the shower? I'll make it worth your while."

* * *

 

Keith is feeling very bare, standing around half hard and kind of chilly while Lance gets the shower running, and super aware of the cum drying tackily in his hair. He's pretty sure there's some on his forehead, too. He resists the urge to scrub at it, even though it's kind of gross, because every time Lance looks at him his bright eyes flick up to it and he looks gratifyingly like someone smacked him upside the head with a board.

Whatever. He's had arguably worse things in his hair, such as motor oil, and blood (both his and not), and on one occasion some kind of flesh-eating slime that a plant spit at him during a particularly shitty planetside mission. And apparently Lance really gets off on it. He can tolerate it for a bit.

As long as nobody ever, ever finds out about this. 

Ok, he's feeling _really_ awkward just standing here naked and streaked in cum in someone else's bathroom.  He crowds closer to Lance where he's leaning into the shower, fiddling with the controls and rambling about ideal water temperatures. A little bud of warmth blooms in his chest when Lance wraps an arm around his waist and reels him into a full-body press without stopping what he's doing.  Keith breathes him in headily.  He’s been horny for-fucking-ever and Lance keeps dragging him out, the goddamn tease.

"What?" he says belatedly when Lance looks at him expectantly.

"The water, Keith, how do you like your water! Because I like it pretty hot but I don't wanna cook you like a tamale."

"Whatever's fine."

"Come on man, I wanna make this nice for you."

"It's just a shower, I don't care," Keith groans, pushing his face into the crook of Lance's neck.  God, he smells so amazing, and his hip is warm where Keith's dick is trapped between them. "If it's too hot I can just say, come _on_ , Lance –"

Lance laughs as Keith rubs against him a bit. “Ok, hold your horses, cowboy! You’ve never had a relaxing spa day in your life, have you?”

“Nope, and I’m not looking for one right now,” Keith grits, shoving Lance into the shower and following after, through the fall of steaming water and into his embrace.

There’s a lot more crap in here than there is in Keith’s shower.  Colorful bottles are arranged in the little shelfy nook thing in addition to the built-in dispensers, hooks hung with sponges and puffs and - is that a rock? Keith is sleeping with a crazy person.  No way is he letting Lance…do whatever the fuck you do with a rock in the shower to him.  And then Lance finally kisses him, and Keith forgets all about all about his space shower hoard.

He melts against Lance’s hot mouth, reveling in the slide of soft lips and tongue.  Lance’s hands, elegant and spastic by turns when he talks, are sure and strong against his skin. He’s petting him in long strokes made slick by the water, down his back and over his ass, back up his sides, thumbing his ribs, so good, he feels so _good_ like this.  Lance threads his hand up through his hair, clasping the back of his head and tipping it sideways. Keith lets out a long, pleased sigh as Lance mouths warmly at his neck and under his jaw, breath hitching as long piano fingers press the back of his inner thigh, making electricity zing between his legs. Not today, he thinks dizzily, but one of these days he'd like that, letting Lance finger him until he’s boneless, those expressive hands fondling the curve of his ass and curling inside him.

Lance pulls away with a last peck to his lips, pushing him up against the wall and reaching for one of his many shampoo bottles.

“Oh, so you're _actually_ washing my hair?” Keith suppresses a grin at Lance’s affronted expression.

“Why would I make that up?! I never joke about hygiene, Keith,” Lance retorts, and instead of pouring it out into his hand as he’s about to, upends it right over Keith’s head.

Which backfires on him, Keith can see it, plain as day. Lance's eyes go wide, fixed on the top of his head, and he undergoes the most rapid color change he has ever seen in a human face: from warm-shower-pink to hoverbike scarlet in two seconds flat.

For a moment Keith feels pinned like a butterfly, as the cool weight of the blob of shampoo oozes down one side of his head and he realizes what it must look like, white shampoo splurted right over where he's pretty sure Lance's cum is still gluey in his soaked hair.

“Oh, I see.  So _this_ what you were after,” he says, aiming for dry but cracking. Heat is flushing up his groin and chest at the look on Lance's face, the same look he got after he came, gobsmacked and hungry, like Keith's the single most amazing thing he's ever seen and he's half a step away from devouring him alive. Keith can't remember ever feeling so desired, so desirable, as he does under the weight of Lance's gaze, held against the wall of his shower by his eyes and his lean thigh, probably looking like the star of a kinky porno.

“No, God,” Lance stammers, hunger shading into embarrassment. "I really am just gonna wash your hair..."

He had a suspicion before, but now he’s sure - this is a _thing_ , for Lance, he’s got a _thing_ about hair, and Keith – he’s not sure if he’s into this himself. But the idea of leaning into it and keeping that hungry look on Lance's face makes him feel slutty in a good way, flushed hot from cock to ears, hotter than the water and thick steam billowing around them.

He goes all in.  Tips his head, turning up the cleaner side. Lets his eyes go half-lidded in a way he hopes looks flirty.  "Sure that's enough?"

Lance's eyes darken, darting between his own.  "A bit more never hurts," he agrees, voice higher than usual, and squeezes the bottle again. It's a lot more this time, Keith can feel, a thick cool drizzle that trails down above his ear.  Lance puts the bottle aside, staring at him like he's trying to sear the image into his memory, then presses close and weaves both hands into his hair.

Keith does wash his hair every few days, regardless of what Lance might think. He's never bothered to take his time and didn't see the appeal, but he kind of gets it now. Or, maybe not. It never feels this good when he’s doing it himself. 

Lance's strong fingers rub circles into his scalp like a massage. It'd be relaxing if Keith weren't so hard it almost hurt. Sandwiched between the warm solidity of the wall and the warm press of his - his lover's body, Lance's hands in his hair, arms bracketing his face, steam scented by Lance's shampoo filling his nose and mouth, Keith feels utterly surrounded. It's definitely way too much fucking shampoo, even for his longer hair, and it lathers quickly into thick fluffy mounds that ooze down Lance's forearms and accumulate on his own shoulders.  Lance is careful, not a single sud dripping down his forehead or into his eyes, and the clench of Keith's heart is matched by the clench of his gut at the ticklish glide of a large glob of frothy soap running down his back, between his cheeks, down his inner thigh, quickly followed by another, and another sliding down his front. It feels like he's being both held and touched lightly all over. And then he remembers that's Lance's own cum that he's so focused on working out of his hair, and his voice cracks on a moan.

"Come on Lance, touch me already," Keith gasps, breathless in the steam-heavy air, attempting to cant his hips closer.

“I am touching you,” he says, grinning, and Keith groans, clutching at his waist. 

"Please," he breathes, levering against the wall to grind against Lance in a full-body glide. His cock slides easily in the sharp divot of his hip, the roll of his hips like he's moving on tracks, like he couldn't stop if he wanted to.  Lance's arms curl around him, over his shoulders and cradling the back of his head. Deep in his throat he feels a thrum building, a low throbbing buzz that he's only ever felt two or three times before, on rare occasions he's felt safe and cared for. 

"Ok, ok! Let me at least get the shampoo out of your hair, I don't want to get it in your eyes if we're distracted, I think it's probably tear-free but– "

"Lance!"

"Relax, I've got you," Lance murmurs, dropping a hand to the small of his back and turning him directly into the spray. "Close your eyes a minute." 

A firm hand rakes through his hair, stripping the shampoo out, combing it away from his face.  Under the spray with his eyes shut, water running down his face, Keith can't see, can barely hear, can't even really smell, can just feel Lance holding him, the hand on his back like a brand, the solid warmth of him from chest to thigh.  Breathless, like a ship dropping anchor, Keith leans into him, clinging to his lover's back and letting his forehead fall to Lance's cheek. Then Lance is guiding him forward again, a step and a turn like a dance, and then he's out of the spray and Lance's hand is squeezed between them, working over Keith's cock in short, quick strokes, twisting over the head, and Keith comes, muffling a strangled cry into Lance's jaw and spurting over Lance's hand before he can even open his eyes.

"Whoa," he hears Lance say distantly, and then his other arm wraps around him and he _holds_ Keith as he shakes through his aftershocks, curled into Lance like he'll collapse without the support.

Lance pets his hair while he catches his breath, stroking his back and thumbing at the bumps of his spine.  He hums contentedly into Lance’s neck, savors the afterglow.

As it fades, though, embarrassment rises in its place. Did he just go off like a bottle rocket from a bit of hair washing and a fifteen second handjob?

“That was amazing,” Lance is saying.

“Yeah?” He peels away to see the other paladin is grinning.

“Yeah, man.” Lance smacks a loud kiss on his cheek and grabs for another bottle. “We are both too hot for our own good.”

Keith laughs helplessly, embarrassment melting away.

They soap each other down, kissing and groping playfully.  Lance tries to get him to “condition” but Keith bargains him off with the promise that he’ll try facemasks sometime – conditioner always makes his hair feel greasy and he doesn’t get the point. The rock does not come into play, thank fuck. They tumble out of the shower in a tangle of limbs and bundle up in thick blue towels, trying to dry each other off at the same time and probably getting in each other’s way more than helping.  Lance won’t be budged on moisturizing, which Keith rolls his eyes at but relents, drowsy and pleased at Lance's talented hands stroking his face, returning the favor so he can roll his thumbs over Lance's jaw and smooth his eyebrows.

It’s comfortable, intimate. Keith doesn’t think they’re going to go for round two (not that he’s _completely_ opposed to the idea), so it’s kind of weird. Usually after sex they split to go clean up because…well, once they’re not horny anymore they’re just _naked_ and _together_ and Keith finds himself reviewing everything they’ve just done, every embarrassing sound he made or embarrassing face he probably made, and….

Apparently they’ve passed some kind of threshold. All those details that usually bother him pale in the face of the way Lance looked at him while indulging his…well, his kink.  There’s a precious vulnerability in knowing something so specific about what gets Lance hot.

Lance’s bedroom is, of course, fucking freezing compared to the steam-filled sauna they’ve made of the bathroom.  Yelping, they dash to the bed, diving in and wriggling into their underwear under the covers.  There’s a lot of jostling but they finally slot in against each other, bundled up warmly and skin to skin.

“Hey,” Lance says softly. “Thanks. For humoring me.  That's probably the hottest thing that's ever happened to me in my life.”

"Yeah, well."  Keith's eyes jump to his shoulder, holding back a smile. "No problem. Just remember what you promised."

"You got it, mu— uh, muh... man," Lance stumbles. "My man. That doesn't count -"

"Penalty!" Keith laughs, laughs at Lance's shrieks as he rolls over him and digs wiggling fingers into his sides.


End file.
